High Noon

Harry spent a few more minutes wandering around the defence show before it all got tedious and he decided to see what else the hotel had to offer.

Upon wandering out of the ma.s.sive convention hall, the first thing he saw was several people dressed in outdated costumes . . . costumes much more detailed then those worn by the average pureblood.

"Excuse me," Harry walked up to a girl in a colorful saloon girl outfit.

"Yes?" The woman twirled her parasol, "what can I do for you?"

"Um," Harry focused on the woman's face. "I don't mean to be rude but . . . well, why is everyone dressed like it was a hundred years ago?"

"We're part of the Single Action Shooting Society," the woman patted Harry on the cheek. "Magical branch . . . it's better known as cowboy action shooting."

"So you all dress up like cowboys and have fun?" Harry perked up.

"Yes," the woman nodded. "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"Can I play too?" Harry's eyes lit up, "it sounds like fun and I have a couple hours to kill."

"Sure," the woman nodded. "Come on."

Harry followed the woman down a hall and to a large set of double doors.

"The casino set up a portal to a small town in Colorado," the woman smiled. "It's one of those enclaves that hasn't chanced much in the last hundred or so years."

"One of those enclaves?" Harry followed the woman through the door and his jaw dropped in shock. In front of him was a town that wouldn't have been out of place in the old west. "There are more of these?"

"Quite a few," the woman nodded. "Scattered around the western states, most of the inhabitants are magical but there are a few that . . . well you just can't tell. There are even rumors that some of the tribes withdrew to some hidden valley or patch of forest and warded the area so heavily that no one will ever find them."

"Wow," Harry looked around.

"Most of us enjoy access to modern amenities so we'll only do this sort of thing on weekends and conventions like this . . . then we go home, but for some it's their life." The woman smiled over at Harry, "don't worry about your appearance . . . you can buy a period outfit later if you decide you like this sort of thing."

"My outfit," Harry looked down and watched his clothes change into something more appropriate. "Won't be a problem."

"Nice trick," the woman smiled. "Now all you need is a hat . . . there are plenty of vendors around if you want something."

"Thanks," Harry smiled. "I'm gonna go explore . . . see you later."

"Have fun," the woman waved.

Harry walked up and down the dusty street a few times before finally wandering into the town's small general store.

"Can I help ya?" A grizzled old man standing behind the counter peered out.

"I need a hat," Harry smiled. "Can I buy one here?"

"Sh.o.r.e can," the old man nodded. "And anything else you need."

"What do you need to do what everyone else is doing?" Harry scratched his chin.

"A pistol would be all you need to start with," the grizzled old man shrugged. "I don't have much contact with them, they roll into town a couple times a year and then they roll out and things get peaceful again."

"Oh," Harry nodded. "What kind of pistol should I get?"

"Colt Single Action Army always feels good in the hand," the old man smiled. "A Smith and Wesson Schofield or Russian could also be a good choice."

"Ok," Harry licked his lips. "What do you recommend?

"I always thought a Single Action Army had the best feel," the old man shrugged. "And it is the gun most people think of when they think of a cowboy gun."

"I'll get that then," Harry nodded.

"What calabre do you want it in?" The old man smirked.

"Calabre?" Harry scratched his chin.

"It's a way of measuring the diameter of a bullet," the old man grinned. "For example, in theory fifty calabre would be about half an inch."

"Oh," Harry gave a slow nod. "What do you suggest?"

"Well," the old man pulled a few bullets out from under the counter. "I'd pick one of these three, the first one is a forty five caliber, sometimes called a forty five long used to be the Army's pistol caliber and it still has a following. The second is a forty four forty, that means that it is a forty four caliber bullet over forty grains of black powder. It's basically a forty five case necked down to forty four caliber, see the way the case tapers down?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "What's the third one?"

"The third one is a thirty eight forty," the old man smirked. "Can you tell me what that means?"

"Thirty eight caliber over forty grains of black powder?" Harry shrugged.

"Yep," the old man nodded. "The thing you got to remember is that caliber isn't always correct, they'll sometimes fudge the numbers a bit to make a round number. For example, the thirty eight forty's bullets have a diameter of point four oh one and the forty four forty has a diameter of point four two seven."

"So what do you think I should get?" Harry scratched his chin.

"Depends on what you want to do with it," the old shopkeep scratched his chin. "If you want to compete then all of them would work good, if you want to pair it with a rifle then I'd recommend either the thirty eight forty or the forty four forty because of the taper. If you want to do anything else with it then I'd recommend the forty five long, because the ammunition is much more available these days."

"I'll take the forty five long then," Harry sighed. "I'd like to say that I'll just compete with this thing but my life isn't that lucky."

"I see," the old man reached behind the counter. "Take this then, it's basically an old Single Action Army but it's got a few improvements."

"Like what?" Harry regarded the pistol with more then a bit of interest.

"Replacing flat springs with coil springs, the ability to load all six rounds safely." The old man shrugged, "that sort of thing."

"Ok," Harry nodded. "Do I need anything else?"

"A holster," the man nodded. "And a belt, I'd recommend a threepersons on a good belt."

"And I suppose you," Harry had played this game a thousand times.

"Just happen to have one," the old man nodded. "And a few others designs if you want one of them."

"I don't know enough to have an opinion," Harry shrugged. "Could you show me how to shoot?"

"I can," the old shopkeep nodded. "I'd recommend that you hand this off to a good gunsmith before you use it though."

"Why?" Harry blinked, "isn't it ready to go now?"

"It is," the old man nodded. "And I'm sure it'll do good, doesn't hurt to have a gunsmith look it over. Something you should always do before you shoot a used gun."

"Ok," Harry yawned. "Do you know a good gunsmith?"

"One of the prospectors that drifts in and out of town is a gunsmith," the shopkeeper nodded. "You'll find him sitting out front next to the wooden Indian."

Harry walked out and found a man with a beat up old hat sitting on a bench in front of the store.

"Excuse me?" Harry nodded.

"Y'all here bout the mine?" Two eyes squinted out from under the brim of the hat.

"I was hoping you could look over my new pistol," Harry shrugged. "They told me you were a gunsmith."

"And a miner," the man nodded. "When ya need it?"

"Later today," Harry shrugged. "I wanted to try my hand at competing in the contest."

"Not much time to work then," the man frowned. "But I suppose I have time to smooth the action and lap the barrels."

"Um," Harry didn't have a clue what the man was talking about. "I also have to have a few hours to learn ta shoot."

"Borrow another gun while I work then," the man spat at a dust devil.

"Ok," Harry nodded. "I think I can do that . . . what were you saying about a mine?"

"There's two," the man held up a gloved finger. "The first is mine, and I ain't sellin."

"And the second?" Harry blinked.

"Second's been lost for years," the man shrugged. "And you won't find it less one of them wants ya to."

"Ok," Harry nodded. "Why did you think I wanted to talk about a mine?"

"Cause some no good sidewindin yella belly'd galoot's been trying ta take mah mine," the man spat again. "And I ah ain't gonna give it ta him . . . thought you might 'ha been one of his men. Sorry bout that."

"No problem," Harry shrugged. "Anyway I can help . . . Mr?"

"Ed, and no . . . not less you have the power to drive off a developer." Ed shrugged, "lousy b.a.s.t.a.r.d wants ta put a sky resort on my property and turn this town into another cess pool of eastern money."

"I might be able to help with that," Harry nodded. "Know anyone that can send a message to this guy?"

"Yeah, I know someone that'll get a message to that no good yella belly . . . don't know that it'll do any good."

"Who?" Harry smiled.

"Feller in the saloon named Blicks," Ed spat again. "He's the dumb ugly one . . . can't miss him."

"Thanks," Harry smiled. "One question though, why don't you just sell to him and get a new place to live?"

"I wash born here, an I wash raished here, and dad gum it, I am gonna die here, an no sidewindin bushwackin, hornswaglin, cracker croaker is gonna rouin me bishen cutter. "

"Um," Harry blinked . . . translator didn't seem to get that last part. "The shopkeeper has my pistol, I'll go talk to Blicks and see if I can set up a meeting."

Harry walked up the street and to the saloon. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed through the bat wing doors and walked to the bar.

"I'm looking for a man named Blicks," Harry yawned. "I need to send a message to his boss."

"What do you need ta say?" A large ugly man rose from one of the bar stools and glared down at Harry.

"I want to buy him out," Harry smirked. "It'd be a shame to let this old town die . . . in my opinion there are already too many soulless yuppy playgrounds, no need to make another."

"Your opinion don't mean nothing to me," the large man popped his knuckles. "Now get out."

"I really think that this is something that you should pa.s.s on to your boss," Harry sighed . . . it had to happen.

"I don't," Blicks balled his fist and took a swing at Harry's jaw.

"You don't want to do this," Harry stepped to one side.

"Yes I do," Blicks took another swing. "Now stand still."

"Fine," Harry's hand whipped out and he jabbed the man in the stomach.

Blicks fell to the ground and started coughing, "I'll get you for this."

"That's what they all say," Harry frowned . . . that was easy.

"Yer dead," Blicks glared up at Harry. "When I tell my boss he'll send a dozen men here to kill you."

"Just be sure to tell him my offer," Harry walked out of the bar with a strange expression on his face. How in the h.e.l.l had he stopped such a large man with such a light blow?

"I'll tell him," Blicks called out as Harry left. "And you better be here when he comes with his men or we'll burn the town down and come looking for you."

"Whatever," Harry shook his head . . . you'd heard one death threat, you'd heard them all.

Harry walked back to the store and up to the counter.

"How'd things go?" The old shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Heard you were gonna go talk to Blicks?"

"He didn't want to pa.s.s my message to his boss," Harry yawned. "So I explained to him that I really wanted to talk to his boss and he agreed that he'd take my message."

"Just like that?" The old man raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Harry scratched his chin. "He did say something about calling me out . . . I wouldn't worry about it though."

"If you say so," the shopkeeper shrugged. "Let's show you how to use a pistol."

"And get a hat," Harry smirked. "Forgot to do that."

"What kind of hat would you like?" The old man smirked, "it's a personal choice so take your time."

"No advice on what to buy this time?" Harry chuckled.

"Beaver felt is the best stuff," the old man waved his hand. "Other then that it all goes."

"That one," Harry pointed to a black Stetson with a turned down brim.

"Ok," the old man grabbed the hat and put it on the counter. "Any reason why you chose that one?"

"Reminds me of something I saw on TV when I was a child," Harry sighed. "I watched it through a crack and it's something that made me happy at a time when I didn't have much to be happy about."

"That's as good a reason as any," the old shopkeeper nodded. "Let me just grab one thing and your outfit will be perfect."

"Sure," Harry nodded. "And then can you show me how to shoot?"

"How to draw and fire," the old man nodded. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Mr. Black," Harry put his new hat on with a grin.

"Then here you are Mr. Black," the old man slid a stack of business cards across the counter. "Put these in your pocket and meet me out back."

"One question before I go," Harry smiled. "When Ed got going I had trouble understanding him . . ."

"Yep," the old man nodded. "When Ed gets going he starts talking in old west gibberish. You're lucky, not many people get a chance to hear it anymore."

IIIIIIIIII

"Hey boss," Blicks took off his hat and walked into the boss's office. "Stranger in town causing trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" The Boss's eyes narrowed, "and why can't you handle it?"

"I tried boss," Blicks began to sweat. "But he was too fast for me . . . he said he wanted you out, said he was willing to pay a fair price."

"What did you tell him?" The Boss frowned.

"I told him not to run," Blicks smiled. "And that we'd be there later to settle things."

"Good," the Boss smirked. "Round up the men . . . we wouldn't want to keep the Stranger waiting now would we?"

"No Boss," Blicks gave an evil smile.

IIIIIIIIII

"How am I doing?" Harry smiled, he'd been practicing for the last few hours.

"Not bad," the old man allowed. "I haven't seen many people with faster reflexes . . . seen quit a few with better accuracy."

"I'm hitting the targets," Harry protested.

"Let me tell you a story," the old man made himself comfortable. "Then you can get your gun from Ed and get to the compet.i.tion."

"Alright," Harry nodded.

"There was an archery compet.i.tion in England a few hundred years ago," the old man began. "The target was a fish and at the end of it three archers. .h.i.t the target. The king looked out and had to decide which man won. Finally he called the archers up to his booth. The king asked the first archer what he had been aiming at and the man replied that he'd been shooting at the fish. The king asked the second man the same question and the man replied that he'd been shooting at the fish's head. Finally the king asked the third man who replied that he had been shooting at the fish's eye . . . who do you think won? Accuracy is important, don't stop practicing . . . you can never be good enough."

"Thanks," Harry nodded.

"Here you are," the old miner walked up to hear the end of the story. "I did what I could and it'll shoot as straight as you need it to."

"Straighter," Harry smirked. "Thanks."

"No problem," the miner nodded. "Good luck with your contest."

"Thanks," Harry holstered his revolver and walked up the street to the compet.i.tion. Harry walked a few blocks and came to a man sitting behind a registration desk.

"Come to enter the contest?" The man smiled.

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Ok," the man nodded. "Local or Sa.s.s?"

"I'm just pa.s.sing through," Harry shrugged.

"Ok," the man-made a few marks on the paper. "Who are you?"

"I'm just a guy on vacation," Harry sighed.

"Ok . . ." the man gave a slow nod, "you're all set."

Harry walked past the sign-in desk and to a large line, "this the line for the contest?"

"Yep," the man in front of him nodded. "I'm Jody . . . you the guy that busted up Blicks?"

"Yep," Harry nodded.

"You know what it means to be called out don't you?" Jody frowned.

"Why don't you explain things to me?" Harry cracked his neck.

"Well," Jody began. "You walk out to the middle of the street and then you shoot at each other . . . course, Blicks and his crew probably try to cheat."

"Do I really have to stand in the middle of the street and draw while they try to shoot me from the cover?" Harry just didn't understand these people.

"S' what the code says," Jody nodded. "Course, most of the old-timers respect you more if you ambush them with a shotgun . . . but that's just my opinion."

"Sounds good," Harry shrugged. "Anything I'm supposed to do before this all happens?"

"Go to the saloon and get yourself a drink," Jody nodded. "It's tradition."

"Ok," Harry sighed . . . why did his life have to get so complicated?

IIIIIIIIII

"And next we have," the announcer glanced down at his notes . . . a guy on vacation? He'd have to spice that up a bit, "the Lone Stranger."

Harry walked up to the line to sound of the crowd's cheers and he waved at the audience before taking his place on the line.

IIIIIIIIII

"How'd he do?" The old man shot a stream of tobacco juice out his lips.

"Not so bad," Jody smiled. "Not so good but one does have to take into account that he's new to all this."

"New h.e.l.l," the old man gave a rasping laugh. "I remember a figure in black buying supplies from my father's store, that man was one of the best shots I've ever seen."

"Can't be him then," Jody chuckled. "As we said, he did fairly well for someone who's new at this and not too bad for someone that's been doing this for a while . . . "

"Just outta practice I'd bet," the old man gave a frightening smile as he pulled something out of his pocket. "And I imagine that using lead would throw him off a bit too."

"What are you saying?"

"Every legend has its basis in reality," the old man opened his hand to show the small item.

"It can't be?" Jody stared in awe.

"It is," the old man nodded. "A silver bullet . . . puts a whole new perspective on things doesn't it?"

"What did you say his name was again?" The younger men were stunned at this new piece of information.

"He's calling himself Black these days," the old shopkeeper smiled. "Feel sorry for the feller dumb enough to call him out."

IIIIIIIIII

"Um . . . Boss?" One of the men knocked on the door to the Boss's office, "I don't think you wanna go after that stranger."

"Why not?" The Boss raised his eyebrow. "You know something I don't?"

"I was in town and I found out who he really is," the man wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.

"Well?" The Boss snarled, "out with it?"

"Mr. Black," the man's voice broke. "You've called out Mr. Black . . . I'm the sorry boss but I'll quit if you tell me to go after him, I've heard what he does to men that go after him."

"That's just what he does when he's in a good mood," the Boss nearly lost control of his bladder. "I've heard what he does when he's in a bad mood."

"So what do you want us to do Boss?" The man licked his lips.

"Tell the men that we're packing up," the Boss smiled. "And that I'll give them their severance pay when I get back."

"Yes Boss," the man agreed nervously."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry was sitting at the bar in the saloon when the Boss found him, "excuse me." The sinister-looking man smiled nervously, "you wouldn't happen to be Mr. Black would you?"

"I am," Harry nodded. "Why?"

"Well," the Boss nearly wet himself . . . again. "I've heard that you had a little . . . a tussle with one of my men, he goes by the name of Blicks?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "He said something about calling me out?"

"I'm sure that was all a misunderstanding," the Boss's hands were shaking. "I also heard that you were interested in buying me out?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Well," the Boss put a few papers on the bar. "Here are the deeds to all the land that I've acquired in this area if you want to purchase them."

"Sure," Harry smiled. "How much do you want?"

"Um?" The Boss began to shake.

"Here," Harry put a few gold eagles on the bar next to the deeds. "Is this enough or do you need more?"

"That's plenty," the Boss squeaked.

"Great," Harry nodded. "I knew that once you got my message you'd be willing to come down here and talk things out . . . after all, you're a businessman, not a robber baron."

"Yes," the Boss nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to . . . go . . . somewhere else now."

"Have a good day," Harry smiled. "What a nice fellow."

"Right," the bartender picked up a gla.s.s and started polis.h.i.+ng it. "What did you do to him to make him react like that?"

"What do you mean?" Harry raised an eyebrow, "we just talked."

"Ok," the bartender shrugged. "What do we do if another developer comes?"

"Call me," Harry finished his drink.

"How do we do that?"

"Here," Harry slid one of his new business cards across the bar. "Use this." His business finished, Harry downed his drink and walked out of the bar and back to the portal that would get him to the casino.

The bartender picked up Harry's business card and went deathly pale.

"What is it?" Jody asked.

"It can't be," the bartender shook his head.

"Let me see," Jody grabbed the business card and examined it closely. "Well . . . every legend has it's the basis in reality."

-Have Gun Will Travel -

Floo Black . . . San Francisco

IIIIIIIIII

Mr. Black . . . What in the h.e.l.l is He?

by Luna Lovegood

It has recently come to our attention that Mr. Black has been seen using a ma.s.sive scythe as a weapon and the question has come up of what exactly Mr. Black is. In the past, it has been reported that Mr. Black is several thousand years old ex-dark lords, a living G.o.d of fertility, really dangerous, some sort of secret agent, and now the incarnation of death . . .

. . . so I guess the question is: Is Mr. Black the incarnation of death, or did some past scribe witness, Mr. Black, using his scythe in battle and use him as the basis of the figure we now think of when we think of death?

. . . the evidence seems to show that Mr. Black is all of these things and more.

AN: The wooden Indian is something that used to stand in front of general stores, still had a couple out when I was a kid but I haven't seen one for a while. Remember, Harry is a part vamp and part werewolf. He is much stronger and faster then a normal human, Harry hasn't noticed. Some of the stories followed the cliché western theme and parts of it followed the cliché 80's movie theme, except the end. This chapter is peppered with references to old western TV shows and movies. I'll give you a hint, one of them was done by Mel Brooks.Omake: by Nementh . . . I couldn't think of a way to expand or improve it.

Henchgirl opened the locks on the cases containing the goods that she and the Professor had lovingly crafted based on Mr. Black's requirements. While the Cell Floos had been selling quite well, she wasn't sure just how much of the rest of the Black-inspired gear would be desirable to any other wizard.

She shared a hopeful glance with the Professor, perhaps at least one of the other designs would prove to be as popular. As she opened the cases, the Professor started,

"And now, I would like to..." His introductory spiel was drowned out by the ma.s.sed shouts of "ACCIO" from convention attendees who had started cl.u.s.tering about the front of the booth's tables shortly after following them out of the symposium. He and Henchgirl blinked, seeing neat piles of small Gringotts sacks appear on the table where they had planned to lay out the sale items.

"I suppose there are other wizards who need those types of device," Henchgirl offered hesitantly. She glanced at the now empty s.p.a.ce where the stack of new Black Ink order sheets had been. "Who would have thought?"

The Professor merely grinned triumphantly. "I knew when we first met that Mr. Black would be able to offer suggestions that would let us gain recognition. Now, we just have to let the word spread for a while, and in a few years they will be ready for our true works of genius to be unveiled to the world!" He a.s.sayed a maniacal laugh but broke off as a shocked look crossed his face. "Henchgirl, you know what this means, don't you?"

The two shared a look, and then chorused, "We need more Henches!" As the two continued to discuss possible expansion in the hench crew, several individuals on the edge of the crowd slipped away to report to their various organizations about the latest on Mr. Black.